The Secret Rebel (Rough Draft)

chapter 8

I sighed as slid down the sink cabinet in my bathroom, my towel riding up so it was more so just covering my torso. With a heavy breath, I rubbed my hand on forehead and grimaced.

"That was too fucking close, just, ugh..." I strained out lightly, stress clearly evident. How bad must my fucking luck be? First; it was getting stabbed by that Node bitch. Now this, this is all too much. So much has happened in the past few days, it's almost sickening. It's almost like a movie, I chuckled.

"Next thing you know I'm going to chop my hair off and become a heroine." I smiled as I whispered to no one in particular. With another sigh I reached my hand up and gripped the edge of the dark counter, slowly lifting myself up. I frowned a little when I looked in the mirror but quickly ignored it as I grabbed a pair of scissors that had just seemed to appear from nowhere in particular. With much ado eagerness, i wedged the black scissors in between my wrist and the saturated neon pink cast and tried to heave the scissors together.

"Ugh, son of a bitch, why won't you MOVE!" I yelled as I tried to cut the cast off.

"Hey, Amanda!" I yelled out to the Asian girl who'd currently sitting on my bedroom floor. You wouldn't really expect an Asian to be named Amanda, it's such a white Person name. Like if you switched our names, they'd probably sound more of sense.

"Yeah?" She questioned her voice trailing off as she did so.

"Can you come in here for a second? I need help"

"Yeah give me a minute" I listened to the sound of padding feet along the floor that quickly lead to the door.

"Jees couldn't you've at least put some clothes on?"

"Meh, it's not really a big priority as of now... so I kind of need to cut this off," I said sheepishly as I waved the heavy casted hand around. She looked at me and laughed.

"Kid, you don't cut casts off. You unwrap them." She stated in a know-it-all tone, sass clearly being an evident trait of hers'. I let out a humph and stuck my hand out, I'm not too fond of being told I'm wrong. And I certainly won't let her be the first to tell me I'm wrong, but then again I could cut the cast off. But... it might just be a tad bit easier if I just so happened to unroll them.

"Well get out then, I can do that myself, and I'm sort of kind of naked," I stated as I crossed my arms across my towel covered chest.

"Well, no need to be so rude about it, but yeah, be quick I want you to meet Jeffery."

"Jeffrey? Am I supposed to know who this is? Is this the world renowned singer and makeup producer?"

"Well obviously not"

"Then I hate to tell you buttercup, but I don't care," I said in a playfully snappy tone as I shut her out of the bathroom.

***
After about 30 minutes I had somehow managed to unwound the tightly packed cast. My Wrist looked fine but my knuckles, ew. My knuckles are really swollen, making the upper part of my hand look like a dark an heirloom tomato. To add, my knuckles themselves look like there's dried blood on them. The water from the pool made the cast soggy, which ultimately backfired on me because my hand looks like a prune. As if the skin could tear at the slightest of touch.

"That's disgusting" I groaned out in worry as I examined my finely aged hand, I wonder if my hand is considered a wine now, get it. I laughed at my own internal joke. I've also put on clothes by now, a baggy t-shirt that I'd stolen from dad and a pair of black yoga pants. Now I understand that's not really party attire, but, at this point, I don't really care. I've almost died twice in the same month, if that ain't some funky clunky bullshit then I don't know what is. I looked at Amanda, she's pretty cool, I think I might keep her. I chuckled at the thought of having to dote Amanda everywhere in a travel size bag meant for a 1LB chihuahua.